by Sarah Cross
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” The bartender set the drink in front of her. It was a gorgeous ruby-red color and smelled like fruit juice. A golden glaze of caramel dripped from the apple wedge garnish.
“I think I’ll skip this,” she said, taking the apple wedge off her glass.
The bartender laughed. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Viv had finished her first red apple martini and was halfway through her second when Jasper showed up again. She’d hoped the alcohol would settle her nerves but it was just agitating her and making things worse.
“Getting drunk?” he asked.
“If I want to.”
“You’re a princess,” he said. “It wouldn’t kill you to act like it.”
“I guess I’m not as good at my role as you are at yours. Because you are so charming right now. Isn’t he charming?”
“Cut her off,” Jasper told the bartender. “Or I’ll have your hands cut off.”
She didn’t even turn to watch him walk away. Just raised her finger to the bartender—making a point. “Ignore him,” she said. “He doesn’t back up anything he says. He’s all talk. Trust me, I would know.”
She downed her second drink—and hoped it would help. It didn’t. It just stirred up more fear. There was no whisper from Henley. No brush of his hand—just people bumping into her from behind.
He could have been caught. A wrong step, a snapped branch, too much weight in the boat. All it took was one person to notice, one to grab the cloak, another to draw his sword.…
Or maybe he hadn’t seen her. Maybe he was hanging around the Twelve Dancing Princesses because he assumed she’d be over there.
“One for the road,” she told the bartender. “That’s a Royal order.”
“You got it.”
He mixed her a third red apple martini and she took it with her, sipping it as she made her way across the dance floor. The apple wedge brushed the corner of her mouth, and she pulled it off, fingers sliding through the glaze.
The glaze was different this time—not caramel, but sticky red candy, as bright and shiny as lip gloss. Impulsively, Viv pressed her lips to the glaze. The honeyed, tart taste melted on her tongue. Sour apple. Sweet sugar.
It was apple season on the surface. The time for fallen leaves and parties where kids bobbed for apples. When Viv was younger, kids would harass her at Halloween parties, crowding around her with apples, trying to get her to take a bite—as if she had a fatal apple allergy and could be killed by any Red Delicious. She’d eaten one and pretended to die once—then had gotten a serious scolding at home after the adults hosting the party told her father what she’d done.
Most people assumed she hated apples, but Viv actually liked them. She liked the smell, and the taste. She liked the way they filled her palm, the way they looked hanging from a tree or sitting on a teacher’s desk. The way they were a symbol of temptation.
She ate them sometimes when the mood struck her. She just didn’t take them from witches.
She wanted this one.
The red glaze shined like a new pair of patent leather shoes. She bit the wedge in half, and felt the candy cling to her teeth. The cool flesh of the apple slid across her tongue. It tasted so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. And it brought back a memory—a time she and Regina had gone to an orchard. Viv must have been about six. They had matching baskets and went down the rows of trees, picking the biggest, brightest apples to take home.
Afterward, they’d sat in the grass outside the gift shop and eaten apples until their stomachs soured, giggling like they were doing something forbidden. When they were finished Regina used her sleeve to wipe the juice from their faces, then kissed the rest of it off Viv’s chin.
“We can make a pie,” Viv said.
“No.” Regina took both baskets and tipped them over into the grass. “We can’t bring these home. Your dad wouldn’t like it. We shouldn’t tell him about coming here, either.”
“It will be our secret. We can have all kinds of secrets from him!”
Regina had laughed at that. She had been so beautiful, and Viv had beamed with pleasure, certain that nothing could spoil this, nothing could ever go wrong between them.
The apple in Viv’s mouth tasted exactly like that memory: pain and happiness with an aftertaste of lost innocence. She made a sobbing noise, gasped, and the piece of apple slid down her throat and stuck there.
She was conscious long enough to notice the blood-tinged tartness of the poison, the blur of the crowd, the way the world shrank to nothing as her eyes closed, and then the floor hit her so hard she stopped feeling it.
CHAPTER FORTY
VIV WOKE UP SPRAWLED on the ground outside the palace, coughing up poison, bright red flecks spattering the stones like blood. She could feel the poisoned wedge scraping down her throat and into her stomach, hard as a gem. A circle of legs surrounded her. Jasper and his entourage.
“Did it come up?”
“No, she swallowed it.”
Her bones ached from crashing onto the rocky ground. There was a stretcher behind her; she must have fallen off when they dropped her. That was the way it was supposed to happen, but the servants all looked like they were sorry about it.
Jasper knelt and gathered her in his arms, wiped the syrup from her face with a handkerchief. The poison burned her stomach and she shuddered.
“We have to get the apple out,” he said. “You’ll feel better after that.”
“I want to go back to the club. I have to—” She couldn’t finish. She couldn’t tell him about Henley.
“We can go back tomorrow,” he said gently.
Jasper’s entourage accompanied them all the way to Viv’s room. Jasper laid her down on the bed, then sent servants to fetch hot water, towels, salt. He sent guards to round up the bartenders for questioning, and to remind the other guards to be extra vigilant at the checkpoint.
“The bartender I saw talking to you—he’s the one who served you the drink?”
“Yes. But I doubt he works for you. It was probably my stepmother in disguise.”
Jasper leaned over her and brushed her hair back from her face. “Impossible. The doors are blocked to her. She must have hired him. Don’t worry, we’ll find him. He won’t get away with doing this to you.”
He stayed near her, his hand warming her cold fingers. “Go and break some diamond leaves off the tree in my father’s study,” he told a maid, “and pay a horseman to bring a doctor from the surface.”
“A doctor?” Viv said.
“Just in case.”
The first group of servants returned with a solution of warm salt water. They poured it down her throat until she vomited into a bowl: the cursed apple chunk floating in a foamy swirl of liquor, brine, and blood. They whisked away the poison apple, combed her hair and washed her face, removed her pearls and her dress, and by then she was tired of the hands tugging at her and she ordered them away. Everyone except Jasper.
He covered her with three layers of blankets. Tucked her in. She took a sip of water from the glass beside her bed and felt the cold liquid coil inside her stomach.
“Do you feel better?” Jasper asked.
“I think so.”
She’d missed her chance to meet Henley. They were supposed to have two more nights together, and now half that time was gone. The twelve princesses hadn’t left the underworld and she’d already lost tonight.
“I tried shaking you at the club. Turning you over, pounding your back. It didn’t help. It wasn’t until I started to bring you home, and one of the servants tripped, that …”
She looked toward the window. She wished she knew if Henley was all right. If he was out there, waiting. Or if the guards had found him. She wondered if Jasper would tell her if they had.
“Do you think it’s over? The curse? Now that you’ve eaten the poison apple?”
“Maybe. There’s usually another attempt, but the apple is kind of the coup de grâce.”
>
Jasper sat down next to her, his hand resting on the blanket over her arm. “Let’s hope that’s the end of it. I’d be wrecked if I lost you. I don’t want us to fight over stupid things. At the club, when I said—”
A knock at the door sent Jasper sliding off the bed to answer it. It was the doctor they’d summoned—accompanied by the troll, who wore a bright gold smoking jacket over a pea-green suit.
“Get him out of here,” Viv said.
The troll smiled. “Vivian, is that any way to speak to your future father-in-law? A little respect, please. I’m here to make sure you’re all right.”
“I don’t want him here,” Viv told Jasper, hoping that now, of all times, he’d stick up for her.
“Just let the doctor examine you,” Jasper said.
“Yes. Let the doctor do his job,” the troll said. His presence made her feel worse than the poison had.
Viv allowed the doctor to look down her throat, listen to her heart, et cetera, just to get rid of him, and finally he made her drink something that was supposedly an antidote—although Viv doubted there was a ready-made antidote to Regina’s poison.
When the doctor left, the troll took his place at Viv’s bedside. His scent was overpowering. He smelled like he bathed in Earl Grey tea, and also like there was garbage inside his clothes.
“Now that the prince has saved his princess from the poison apple, it’s time to move forward with the wedding preparations,” the troll said.
Viv started to protest and the troll muzzled her with a hand that reeked of rotting vegetables.
“Vivian, ever the firecracker. I’m sure you were about to give me a reason why we ought to delay the wedding. Maybe you’d rather find my name before you and my son exchange vows. That would be nice for you—a wedding and a coronation on the same day! But that’s not going to happen. You will marry my son, bear his children, and rest assured, I will outlive you both.”
He smiled again and held it as if the expression were carved onto his face.
“Now, I don’t want you to worry that your dream wedding will be a rushed affair. We’ll make it a night you’ll always remember. No one in the world throws a better party than I do. I’ll leave it up to you to make it a night your husband always remembers.
“Good night,” the troll said as he left. “And congratulations.”
Jasper seemed stunned, but not unhappy. Maybe he was feigning shock so she wouldn’t be pissed at him.
“So, how can I make it a night you’ll always remember?” she asked tartly.
“Viv …”
“No, I’m serious. You might as well tell me your preferences since you always get what you want, anyway.”
Now he gaped at her. “You think I had something to do with this?”
“I know you didn’t do anything to stop him. And his disgusting hand wasn’t covering your mouth. Which, by the way—”
She grabbed the glass of water by her bed, swished some water around in her mouth, and spit it on the floor.
“I can’t believe you think I’m in league with my father.”
“When you just go along with whatever he wants, it’s the same thing!”
“Why don’t you want it? Why are you so against being married to me? This is our destiny. We’re meant to be together. We are. Not you and your Huntsman—he’s dead!”
“Do you listen to yourself?”
“Do you? You haven’t thanked me once. I saved your life. I’ve done so much for you. And you don’t even appreciate it. You just expect it.”
“Of course I expect it,” she said coldly. “I’m the princess.”
“I’m leaving,” he muttered.
“Thank you!” she screamed as he slammed the door behind him.
Her whole body felt wrenched between sped-up and slowed-down. Racing heart, sluggish limbs. She was tired and cold from being poisoned, and full of terror for Henley. They had one more night to figure out how to break the Twelve Dancing Princesses curse—if Henley was still alive—and she doubted he was any closer to the answer than he’d been before. If Henley had been at the club, and he’d seen her collapse, then he was probably worrying about her right now, instead of thinking about how he could save himself.
I won’t let you die, she thought. I’ll protect you. I’ll be the one who saves you this time.
Earlier, when Jasper had given orders to summon the doctor, he’d told a maid to take some diamond leaves from a tree in the troll’s study.
Viv had already seen trees made of silver, and of gold … and she’d associated the silver with the underworld and, eventually, the gold with Rumpelstiltskin. But the mention of a diamond tree got her thinking about the Twelve Dancing Princesses, and the way the soldier in the fairy tale had won their father’s challenge.
Once he reached the underworld, the soldier followed the princesses through three different forests: one with silver trees, one with gold trees, and one with diamond trees. He broke a twig off each type of tree as evidence, and on the morning after the third night, when he was supposed to solve the mystery or be executed, he presented the three twigs to the king, and the twelve princesses confessed to everything and never returned to the underworld.
The actual curse couldn’t be broken that easily. But if there really were silver, gold, and diamond trees in the underworld, maybe they were part of the solution. It was worth a try. She didn’t have anything else to go on.
Gold and silver twigs would be easy enough to get. But if the diamond tree was in the troll’s study, Viv would have to sneak in there without getting caught.
And she’d have to do it tonight. Tomorrow was Henley’s last night in the underworld.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
THE TROLL WASN’T DOING A DEAL tonight. He was in his chambers somewhere, asleep or awake, dreaming of ruining lives, or counting his treasures, or planning a wedding.
Viv had never snuck into the troll’s chambers while he was there—hadn’t even set foot in the corridor—but tonight she had no other choice. If she didn’t try, Henley would be executed. If she was caught … well, she supposed she’d know exactly how far she could push the troll.
A few of the doors were open and lamplight filtered out into the corridor. The library was lit, and so was a room Viv had taken to thinking of as the troll’s treasure room. It was full of glass cabinets that held the mementos he’d taken from his victims. The nursery door was closed, but Viv could smell baby powder, could hear a baby fussing and the creak of the floor as someone paced. The bedroom door was shut. The study door was open, but the room was dark.
Viv quickly slipped inside the study, closed the door behind her, and turned on the light.
She left it on just long enough to switch on the smaller, weaker, and hopefully less noticeable desk lamp, then started her search for the diamond tree, or a tree with diamond leaves, or whatever it was.
She’d never searched the study. It contained some bookshelves, and also a desk, and cabinets—but all the drawers and cabinet doors were locked. Viv had always planned to go back once she’d gotten her hands on the keys, or stumbled across a book on lock-picking. Wherever the diamond tree was, it wasn’t out in the open. So where to break in first?
Viv went to the desk. She felt around for a key—taped underneath, maybe?—and finally ended up unfolding a paper clip and trying to pick the lock on the top drawer. She felt completely inept—she was sure Jack Tran or Luxe would be able to do this with ease. Jack had stolen from giants. Luxe mainly broke things. But still. How would they get these locks open? Would they bother with a paper clip?
While Viv was kneeling in front of the desk, a speck of sparkle caught her eye, lying on the floor below one of the cabinets. She abandoned the lock to examine it, and saw that it was a tiny diamond leaf, about the size of a fingernail clipping.
The diamond tree had to be in the cabinet. The maid must have dropped the leaf in her hurry to summon a doctor for Viv. Slowly, Viv stood up. She tried the cabinet door.
It was open.
The tree sat on a shelf inside, growing out of a small porcelain tray. It looked like a bonsai tree, but its warped trunk and branches were made of shining, angular diamond. Diamond-sliver leaves stuck out from the branches like tiny fangs. Glittering dust sprinkled the soil where some of the leaves had been snapped off.
Viv felt around for a weak point on the longest branch. All the trees in the underworld had points where they were meant to be broken, and the diamond tree was no exception. The branch sounded like a candy cane cracking as Viv snapped it off. She closed the cabinet—then heard the click of toenails on the floor in the hall, like a large dog was moving slowly toward her.
She switched off the desk lamp and dropped to a crouch.
The door opened. Viv cringed, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of the light, but the room stayed dark. She heard breathing and the soft scuff of large feet on the carpet.
“Vivian,” the troll said, “you make things so interesting. It’s been a long time since a young girl searched the palace for my name. You’re like a pretty little rat, sinking its teeth in everywhere. So what have you found out?”
She didn’t answer.
“Do you want to hazard a few guesses? Should I dance around a fire and sing it to you? Wouldn’t that be nice. The way it is in storybooks.” She could almost see the dry curve of his mouth.
“ ‘Call me Ishmael,’ ” he said—and her heart jumped, thinking he was revealing the answer, until he said, “ ‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ ” Moby-Dick. Romeo and Juliet. He went on reciting name quotes, some she recognized and some she didn’t, until her hands were clenching from nerves and her heart felt like it was about to stop. The three branches were just a hope, a long shot, but if this plan was taken from her she had nothing to replace it.
“You know, dear … if you’re going to guess my name, you might as well get something for it. We could make a wager. I give you something you desperately need and, in exchange, you give me something you can’t bear to lose. And then, if you can guess my name within three days, you get to keep everything. What do you say, Vivian?”
